HDCLSSRS Ch 112

Chapter 112 The Sixth Young Master (4)

“Have they gone?”

“Yes, Master.”

The darkened Seonwollu.

Once the steward had left, the tavern master’s face twisted into a grimace.

So that man truly was a prince of the Demonic Cult?

It hadn’t been a lie.

It was true he had sworn brotherhood with Seong Mujai upon chance encounter, true even that Mujai had borrowed gold and then fled.

Ever since meeting that cursed Seong Mujai, everything’s gone downhill.

He had prided himself on living well—his business flourishing, his family harmonious. But who could have known that the “young master” he had dismissed as an idle son from a decent household would bring such havoc into his life?

“Master.”

“—!”

When had he arrived? In the empty chamber, all at once a man in black stood there—straight-backed, as though he had been present since the start.

The tavern master threw himself flat in obeisance.

“O-Oh, you’ve come!”

“Have you found him yet?”

“I-I’m searching now! I’ll have him soon, I swear!”

“I warned you: fail to find him, and it won’t just be you—your family, your tavern, all of it will end.”

For Seong Mujai was not only sought by Seong Muyeon.

Days earlier, not long after Mujai’s disappearance, this man had appeared before him. Even then, just as now, he had come without warning, demanding that Mujai be found. He had not raised a hand, yet his mere presence crushed the tavern master with an indescribable dread—it was the instinctive terror of the weak before the strong.

He thought of the refined youth he had met that afternoon.

Seventh Prince, was it?

Though uncannily resembling Mujai, that young man had looked nothing demonic at all.

“I-I must tell you something. Today, one calling himself the Seventh Prince of the Demonic Cult came to me as well…”

If anything, this black-clad figure seemed far more befitting of the name “demon.”

Wrapped head to toe in cloth, showing nothing but his eyes, his entire body swallowed by black—save the long scar slashing between his eyes.

Never revealing his origin, offering not a word on Mujai’s truth, he led the tavern master to one conclusion: Mujai was merely some man pursued, running from the hatred of a figure far more dangerous than himself.

“Are you… perhaps also of the Demonic Cult?”

The black-garbed man’s chill gaze stabbed into him.

“I—Forgive me!”

The master dropped his eyes in panic. Yet now everything seemed to click. Without a doubt, this man too was Cult.

“Do your part. I give you ten more days.”

“Yes, sir…”

And with that, the black figure melted into the shadows.

Damnation. What sin did I commit to deserve this?

Quaking, the tavern master staggered to the table, gulping water desperately.

Something monumental must be happening within the Demonic Cult.

It did not seem that the black figure and Seong Muyeon were acting in concert.

What a stroke of calamity. Out of mere hospitality he had taken in one guest—yet here he was, ensnared in disaster.

He had already strained every effort to track Mujai, but with no result as the days wore on. Now, perhaps this “Seventh Prince” could change things. If Muyeon succeeded in finding Mujai, the tavern master could somehow intercept, exploit, or at least survive. For now, life depended on that.

“Up.”

Baek Ryeoil tore away the blanket.

Shivering from the cold, Muyeon curled up tightly. He forced open his heavy eyelids to find the room still dark—dawn had not yet broken.

“Let me sleep a little longer…”

But Ryeoil didn’t relent. He threw the blanket away entirely, then tugged at Muyeon to haul him upright.

“What are you doing! Seonwollu doesn’t even open until midday. Let me be.”

“Training.”

At those words, Muyeon came instantly awake.

“W-What? Did Yakseon arrive?”

He looked up in alarm, half-expecting the impatient woman to have stormed in. But only the two of them were present.

Ryeoil simply lifted him bodily and tossed him into the training yard.

“What in the world?!”

“Whether Yakseon’s here or not doesn’t matter. I’ve realized something. You need more stamina.”

“Waaaah!”

If anything, Ryeoil was no less merciless than Yakseon—and at times worse. The training he forced upon Muyeon measured up to the same standards as what Kang Ung himself had endured.

By the time it ended, Muyeon, trembling like a fawn at birth, was dragged into the dining hall.

When a man suddenly changes, they say it means death is near.

Forcing down the mountain-like breakfast, he mused bleakly. Ryeoil seemed almost brainwashed by Yakseon, tormenting him just as she had.

…Though on second thought, Ryeoil had always tormented him. Nothing had changed, really.

While Muyeon thus suffered, Kang Ung had quickly formed new friendships among the disciples of Biyeonmun. Curious about news from the main sect, they pelted him with questions ceaselessly.

Soon enough, even Muyeon began to feel the weight of their stares—youths of Kang’s age sneaking glances shyly at him.

But just as they began edging closer—

Thunk.

Ryeoil placed his sword firmly across the table. Its meaning was plain: Do not approach.

Startled, the disciples scattered, leaving Kang Ung drooping with disappointment.

“Why, Master? You should have let them.”

“What’s the point in wasting time in idle chatter? We’re here for the Sixth Prince.”

As though it were nothing, Ryeoil dismissed the moment and resumed eating.

What is wrong with him…?

But Muyeon had no chance to dwell. The days were consumed questioning nearly every servant in the taverns.

After two fruitless days, Ryeoil finally snapped.

“How much longer are we sitting here just listening to useless chatter?”

“It’s not as if we have another option!”

“Who says we don’t?”

He shot to his feet.

“And what are you planning? You can’t just go beating people up!”

“What do you take me for? Just wait. I’ll bring something worthwhile.”

Bang!

He slammed open the door to their chamber and stormed off.

“…That man.”

Muyeon sighed, weary. Who knew how much silver they’d already sunk on meals and drink—and still, no lips had opened. Perhaps lives were worth more than coin after all.

“I had thought surely, after nearly a month here, my brother would have bonded with someone. But it seems I was mistaken.”

“Don’t be disheartened, Young Master. You still have me.”

Kang Ung gave a gentle smile of comfort. Muyeon smiled wanly back.

“Dojang, forgive me, but could you fetch tea? I’d rather not call a servant.”

“Of course! Wait here, I’ll have it quickly.”

He hurried out.

The second floor, reserved for wealthy guests, was hushed and calm. But the lower floor roared with bustle—the tavern had grown crowded even before sunset.

Downstairs, Kang Ung peeked carefully into the kitchen.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Oho! A warrior, here in person? What brings you?”

“…Our Young Master wished for tea.”

“You should have called! I’ll prepare it ahead. Just wait a moment.”

The kitchen swirled with its own chaos. Kang Ung leaned casually by the counter, watching the busy hands fly.

“Careful now, if you dawdle you’ll be scolded by the owner! With so much work, the kitchen’s behind.”

“That’s fine by me.”

Though bitter cold outside, the heat here was stifling, sweat dripping from cooks’ brows as they worked the pans.

One glanced at the waiting boy and struck up conversation.

“Not easy living, is it? Serving high lords—fussy airs, thin coin. Eh, with your sword at least you won’t be as miserable as us.”

“Ha… true enough.”

Awkward laughter, eyes sliding aside. Then Kang deliberately sighed heavily.

“The truth is… my Young Master’s grown a little too tense.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“He fears he won’t find the man he’s looking for.”

“So he takes it out on you? Typical of lords.”

The cook had clearly mistaken the situation, but Kang Ung made no effort to correct him. After all, Muyeon had given him instructions before sending him.

〈Kang Dojang, I think you may be able to help.〉

〈Me? How?〉

〈To these people, I’m a highborn young lord. They may hide the truth from me, fearful of fallout. But to someone like you, closer to them in station, it will be easier to speak freely. But Baek Dojang…〉

Muyeon had only shaken his head.

〈You, Kang Dojang, are the perfect fit. Servants and servants understand each other.〉

That was the real reason Kang Ung had sought his way into the kitchen.

The Young Master is relying on me…

His heart pounded with a hint of nervous excitement. This was, after all, his very first mission outside.

Footnotes:

 

1. Biyeonmun (비연문) – One of Mount Hua’s subsidiary branches, small affiliated clans/families supporting the main sect.